


Goretober 2019 (aka sorry Ouma Kokichi)

by Anonymous



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Blood, Blood Kink, Bloodplay, Bullying, Gore, Goretober, Goretober 2019, Guro, Knifeplay, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Murder, Painplay, Tags will update with chapters, a wonderful time of the year!!!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-11-22 11:42:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20873639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Goretober oneshots following the prompts by @miyakq on instagram!Will involve multiple characters just like... honestly going to be Oumacentric. Sorry Ouma!!!Tags and ships will be added with updates!





	1. Day 1 & 2: Heart & Cuts and Bruises

_Day 1 & 2: Heart & Cuts and Bruises_

_Tw for_

_Blood_

_Knifeplay_

_Bullying_

* * *

Ouma ran a finger down his nose and over his lip, a sharp ache bursting as he passed the tip, and a bright searing pain when his thumb came to rest against the big split on his mouth. He pressed the pad of his thumb flatter against the wound, and he could feel his skin jump, curling away from the dirt and grime crawling into the exposed skin. He kept pushing, though, until the blood was bubbling out and pouring into his mouth.

“Ouma-kun.” He turned with a flinch, finger still against his mouth when he saw Saihara in the doorway. He looked kind of (really) dumb, with his face smashed and deformed underneath his hands. There were also the other cuts and bruises covering him on top of that, but he knew Saihara would never care about that.  


“Shai-“ When his mouth came down to form the second syllable, he managed to pinch his lip between his upper teeth and tear it in half even deeper. That _actually_ hurt, enough to make him let out an audible whimper and freeze his whole body.

Saihara watched as the boy covered the bottom of his face with his second hand, able to see the slight tremoring of his shoulders, but he didn’t say anything.

That was why Ouma liked Saihara so much, he never said anything. About stuff like that, at least.

And that was why Saihara liked Ouma, because he loved stuff like that.

“Are you busy? After school, I mean.” He also never asked if Ouma was ‘okay’ when he clearly wasn’t, so that was another plus. Baseless sympathy was so… degrading.

“Mm-mm,” He shook his head as he answered with his indescribable noise.

“Okay, that’s good.” Saihara set his bag down on the ground and pressed himself up against the tiled wall next to Ouma, studying his partially revealed face with the intensity he always did. Nasty yellow eyes muddled with the light from the fogged bathroom windows.

“I was going to ask if you wanted to do something, but I didn’t know if you would want to now.”

Ouma shook his head even harder, his purple hair flying around his head, the small bits of blood slipping from his mouth crusting against his hand. He was scared talking would hurt, but he needed to.

“Wh-What did you want to do?” There were belongings all over the floor, Ouma’s belongings, scattered near the toilet from the open stall across from them. There was paper swirling in the still running bowl, and textbooks flat against the ground with their pages now smudged beyond repair. Priceless hours of studying and work gone, beneath their feet as Saihara kicked away a chewed pencil that rolled up against his shoe.

“I just wanted you to come over.”

* * *

On their way home to Saihara’s house the pair stopped at the convenience store for bandages. Ouma never went to the nurse anymore, because he didn’t want her attempting to contact his family like she had last time, so he spent the last class of the day tucked underneath the stairs attempting to salvage the work he would now have to turn in late.

Walking around with a beaten person at your side would have made anyone other than Saihara repulsed, anxious, upset. But he didn’t even look up from his phone the entire time they walked from the train station to the nearby store, missing every look sent their way without a care. Ouma noticed all of them, unfortunately, despite his eyes being trained at the ground the entire time, too.

He just felt kind of bad that Saihara had to put up with someone like him, he felt horrible about it. But no matter how much happened, how badly he smelled like spoiled milk poured over his head or dripped blood on the bottoms of his socks from the thumbtacks in his shoes, it never seemed to deter the other. It never pushed Saihara away from him, he remained glued to Ouma’s side like he always was. Not attempting to ‘save’ him, but just be in his company.

Ouma was really grateful for that.

They picked out some gauze and tape and antiseptic, Ouma hovering behind Saihara as he payed for it at the counter. His hat covered his face while he counted out his coins from the black and white coin purse, not catching the nervous glances made by the cashier between the two dark, distressing boys.

The sliding doors closed with a repetitive jingle behind them, and Ouma turned to head in the direction he knew Saihara’s house was in, but was stopped when he went alone. Circling around completely behind him, he saw Saihara motion toward the garbage cans, a chocolate bar between his lips he hadn’t seen him buy in the mess of medical supplies. The bright wrapper was between his fingers, and Ouma nodded in understanding, pattering up to him with quick steps.

After disposing of the wrapper, Saihara licked the smudged remnants of chocolate off his thumb with a glance around the relatively empty street. Ouma was too busy fumbling through his bag, for a napkin he thought he might have floating crumpled at the bottom of it, to notice him peek around the corner of the store at the alleyway that was there.

Empty.

“Ouma-kun, come here,” he waved his hand again, and the other lifted his head up just as he began to walk away. Like he knew he would, Ouma did a small jog to catch up behind him, following with only the weak question of ‘What is it?’

Ouma got himself in so many bad situations because he was like this. He wasn’t stupid by any means, just way, way too trusting to the wrong people. Or too willing to let something bad happen to him. Like he truly wanted it, deep down.

Saihara, naturally, didn’t answer, just kept walking down the alley he knew the depth of perfectly. He’d been down here before. When he glanced over his shoulder back at the boy standing there, he didn’t see any fear, just a bruised face peering up at him beneath the shadowed roofs.

His split lip was cherry red, starting to purple around the edges. It looked massive and painful, so painful Saihara felt his mouth watering at the thought of it. It had to hurt so badly, and if anything were to touch it, he knew it would hurt even more. All of Ouma’s body would recoil in pain if anything were to touch it, it was beaten to be barely recognizable. Underneath his right eye was turning dark, a deep slash across the bridge of his nose, he was morphing into the Ouma that Saihara loved to look at.

But he needed to touch him now.

“Mn-?!” Ouma emitted a muffled cry of both surprise and pain when Saihara forced himself on him, his back hitting the wall with a small crack. The brick clattered against his skull and he braced himself with his hands, curling his short nails in for barely any support.

He couldn’t tell what was happening, it was still daylight but everything seemed so dark around him, Saihara’s hat shadowing any light that could manage to slip in through the cracks. The only thing he could do was feel the excruciating pain of teeth sinking into the wound on his mouth.

His hands were clawing at the wall as the sensation tore through his body, but they never aimed themselves toward his assaulter to push him off. Because even if it hurt so badly his body felt like it might catch on fire, it was still Saihara smothering him with his presence. And technically, he was kissing him, their lips slipping past each other around the gnawing teeth.

He was letting out guttural formations of sounds meant to be words, but with his mouth perpetually unable to close, he could never form any solid syllables. Instead, the drool just began to dribble out of his mouth in massive blobs tinted redder and redder, until they pooled between their feet.

Somehow, Saihara managed to detach himself from the flesh he had sunk into, pulling back as blood dripped from his front teeth and onto his tongue. It coated his mouth, and all he could do was swallow it until the unhinged lust in his pupils grew with the taste.

Ouma was holding onto his mouth with only disbelief on his face, looking down at his bloody hands, and then up at the boy towering over his crouched form. He could see the rise and fall of Saihara’s chest, how it quickened, and how he made a face he had never, ever seen him make before. Or any other human for that matter.

“Why…?” That seemed like an easy word to speak when anything else was impossible. But it didn’t seem to be anything that was going to get him answers.

“I was going to wait… Wait until we got home, but I just couldn’t wait,” there was blood, dark brown, at the corner of Saihara’s mouth as he spoke, “But I couldn’t. I can’t control myself when you look like that.”

_‘When I look like… this?’ _Pitiful, destroyed, barely human? Ouma had always thought it was an embarrassment to look at him like this, but if it had been, wouldn’t Saihara have left by now? He had just assumed Saihara was kind enough to avoid it, never bring it up, but apparently it was something much different that kept him around.

“Saihara-kun, I really don’t-“

“You always look the best like this, and today…” It looked like he was having trouble talking, his heavy breaths puncturing every few words. His sentences were painfully slow, and Ouma’s thundering heartbeat wasn’t helping him hear any better.

He felt like he was blushing.

“I couldn’t control myself. I want to make it worse.”

“I-I don’t really… I don’t know, but right here is…” He had no idea what he was trying to say. But Ouma managed to straighten himself out and glance to the side, toward the entrance, as he realized something with a sickening sink in his stomach. Saihara has pushed him right up against the side of a dumpster, so he couldn’t see the road, and more correctly, no one could see him. His short frame was covered by the metal entirely.

He had felt some twisted happiness at first, but now he felt scared too. Why was he scared of the person he was closest to in the world?

“It’s okay, no one’s going to come back here.” The taller boy took a step forward, and without his mind’s permission, his body instinctively pulled away as much as it could into the cold wall. He didn’t want to run away from Saihara, but he wasn’t in control of what his traumatized body did. So avoidant of pain by nature, regardless of what his heart wanted.

Saihara seemed composed about all of this, yet absolutely deranged in the same sense. What he was doing, the look on his face, the way his body moved, it was all uncontrollable. But he appeared to have no shame, not an inkling of hesitation toward his actions as he began to unzip the bag over his shoulder.

“I thought about it so much, but I realized today I… I don’t want to just make what’s already bad worse.” He began fumbling around inside his bag, his hands shaking in excitement, and Ouma was transfixed on the way they moved, unable to look up at his face. “I don’t want to hurt you with someone else’s help, scar you with someone else’s… I want to do it myself…”

How long had Saihara been living with this in his head? How long had he been looking at Ouma, every day, for months now, with all of this running through his mind? Ouma knew Saihara was weird, they both didn’t have any friends for a reason, but this was just something he never could have fathomed without hearing it from his blood-crusted mouth. Ouma felt stalked and hunted at this point, but it didn’t feel bad.

He had always been obsessed with his own pain anyway, so in an opposite sense, he knew how he felt perfectly.

And oddly enough, the whole thing didn’t make him feel betrayed at all. Or hurt. He just sort of felt… glad he had made Saihara that happy? He couldn’t tell what was going on in his mind, he didn’t know, it was all messed up and his lip was throbbing every single time his heart beat and it was beating so fast at this point he thought he was going to collapse into a pile of his own thoughts he never spoke when he saw a razor emerge from Saihara’s bag.

“Can I? I can, right Ouma-kun?”

Ouma had no idea how to respond to that. He just reached up to the top button of his jacket and undid it, revealing the soft flesh of his collarbone.

His heart never felt as weak as it did before in his life, compared to when he saw Saihara smile and laugh at that moment.

When the razor was positioned just above his skin, he started hyperventilating without control. He didn’t know why. Usually pain came out of nowhere and he could handle that, but when he was anticipating it, it suddenly became ten times worse. He could barely see the tip of the razor from the angle his head was able to reach, but he could see the excited quiver in Saihara’s hand holding it, and it didn’t ease the swirling in his guts.

“You smell so good…” Saihara mumbled under his breath, an odd observation but a true one. Ouma smelled like his blood, it was the closest he had ever been to it and it flooded his senses until he felt dizzy. He smelled slightly of his sweat too, sweet, and the underlying scent every person gave off when they were in fear. It was beyond intoxicating, Saihara thought he might lose his mind.

But it remained planted firmly on his shoulders as he brought the blade down and pressed it into the lily-white skin until it split.

“Khh-!” Ouma inhaled through his clenched teeth at the sting of the razor severing his skin. It was at the groove where his neck met his collarbone, so he could feel his pulse slamming up against Saihara’s hand as it moved. He begged it not to jut out too far, or more than a little blood would be lost.

He kept curling his hands into the wall over and over as Saihara would remove the razor, then go back to cutting, like it was some sort of art. Ouma had no idea what he was doing, but all he knew was that it hurt, and mixed in with everything else on his body that was in pain, he felt faint.

This pain stuck out more, it was different. It was fresh, it was new, and it was Saihara’s pain.

When he was done, he leant in and ran his tongue flat up against the wound he had made, causing Ouma to sputter above him. The spit stung and left him gasping for air, but it made everything cold when Saihara pulled away.

Clenching the weapon in his hand, Saihara broke out into a smile as he saw the bright red heart framed by pink skin on Ouma’s neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehehehi *rises from the grave*
> 
> I'm starting a new series like this right now because the goretober list this is based off of (by @miyakq on instagram) is the first one I've found I really really like!! I probably can't do every day but I'll do my best to do the ones I have ideas for... ⊂(◉‿◉)つ
> 
> If you're here from my other series hhrmmhmg sorry. I've felt really distant from that series for a while now obviously ever since someone decided to inform me I am writing it based on my irl life because they caught onto the fact I'm an exaggerated fictional anime boy from an extremely exaggerated fanfiction online!!! You caught me. Also deleted all my comments on all those fics and I'll respond to ones needing updates soon but yeah. I don't trust like that anymore so I'm keeping my distance. I'll still respond to comments from now on of course just like... differently?!:0 I always always appreciate them like I always have.
> 
> Anyway yea this will involve lots and lots of Ouma and Saihara, not necessarily pregame... There's gonna be some Kaito mixed in.... yeah..... others as well... I just like some good gore when it's horny yknow?
> 
> As always thank you for reading! And if you liked please leave some kudos and a comment, I respond to all of them and they keep me going (๑•͈ᴗ•͈)


	2. Day 5: Bloodbath

_Day 5: Bloodbath_

_Tw for_

_Blood kink_

_Murder_

* * *

Everything was _finally_ quiet.

Saihara had always thought maybe there was something different about himself, having the inclinations he had, and the annoyances he carried. On one hand, he wanted to reach down someone’s throat and pull out their tongue so he could feel it warm in his hand, but on the other, he didn’t want the noise.

Not the sounds of suffering, that was heart-pounding fun. Gurgling and cut off breath stuck in a severed neck, he loved that. He meant the talking, the pleading for life and screeching in his ear. It was fine on a screen, but when it was in your face, it just became too much to handle.

He would much rather have someone who was excited by death beg at him. Invite him to slip his fingers deep into their gaping wounds until they faded away. Blush and moan as he tore at their tendons with his teeth. But as far as he knew, that person didn’t exist around him. It was just a fantasy.

So he had to put up with what he could get. And if it meant something like this, he could deal with it.

He didn’t remove his clothes before he stepped into the bathtub carpeted by tepid liquid. Patience was never a strong suit for someone like Saihara, who was so bent on getting what he wanted he turned into the person he was now.

Did you know the average human body can have up to 5.5 liters of blood in it? Maybe even more, if you’re lucky. Multiply that by four and you got 22 liters of it.

A bathtub held much more than quadruple that, so of course it wasn’t filled, but there was a good amount floating at the bottom. It was more than enough for him.

It was hard to keep upright as he lowered himself, he was so excited his limbs felt like live wires that vibrated every few seconds. His arms were weak from his own thrill and the repetitive motions he had just been making for hours now. Chop lift, chop lift, chop lift, slice after slice, it was a miracle someone with his countenance could manage to do it. But he had, and because of that, he felt no pain.

When he was finally settled, he realized a pair of fingers were touching his own, cold against the pale ceramic. The corpse’s hand was draped over the side of the bathtub, spare blood dripping from its fingernails, and Saihara carelessly shoved it off. It hit the floor with a dull thud, and it was quiet again.

All that could be heard was the squeak of blood against the tub as he shifted, and the sloshing of it all around. The bottoms of his clothes were already soaked, and he could see his white socks were seeped in red until the threads were permanently dyed.

He could also hear himself breathing, heavily, his heartbeat picking up in his ears as he relaxed into the liquid.

Spreading his fingers out, he pushed them forward across the bottom of the bathtub, through the blood and savoring it’s feeling. Thick, thick and warm, it rolled over his pale skin as his knuckles broke through the surface.

He remembered what it had felt like to shove the knife deep into each writhing person that now floated around him. How it sunk in and the hot, freshly spilled blood covered his hands, burning into him and turning him somehow a shade darker.

He was definitely getting excited, he could barely hear his own panting over the violent battering of his heart through his whole body.

Lifting his hands from the pool, he saw lines of it drip downward, dragging them up his pants as slick lines covered the black. When he reached his waist, he felt around his hips, digging his fingers into his own bones as he saw the clear bulge in his pants.

Extending his forearms, the last droplets of blood rolled down his wrists and onto the still-buttoned sleeves of his shirt, the white ruined forever. He felt his eyes go wide, pupils reflecting the bright red the shirt began to stain.

Saihara loved that color, the exaggerated, vibrant color blood morphed into when it was splattered onto white. It was rotting away the cleanliness of the fabric, it was marking it irreparably with its death and decay. It was blackened, it was unfixable, it was _ruined_.

Movements frantic, Saihara dunked his hands back into the blood as ripples formed around him. Cupping as much as he could in each palm, he lifted both his hands from the water, and began dragging them up his shirt. Laying down flat, he could smell only the sweet and metallic scent swimming around him.

Lifting his chest from the ground as his hands passed over it and left distinct marks from his fingers, his legs began to squirm uncontrollably. He couldn’t sit still, it felt like he was losing feeling in his limbs they were so tingly. But at the same time, he felt everything with such intensity it was like each fabric and drop of blood was distinct.

His breath hitched as his fingers passed over his nipples, and he began to giggle.

“Haah-“ Saihara let his fingers trail slowly up his neck, feeling the way his pulse throbbed as it was smeared with blood.

The closer his fingers got to his face the stronger the smell got, for whatever reason. Maybe he was imagining it, maybe it was just his mouth watering, but he felt like he was going to lose it when they finally brushed his lips. If he wasn’t still in control of himself somewhat, he would have bit down hard into his own hand, he wanted it in his mouth so badly.

He shoved his fingers into his mouth forcefully, tongue wrapping around them to coat them in the excess saliva that had pooled in his mouth. An electric shock ran through his body, like he was fully alive, and he moaned into his own touch. He was sucking off every bead of blood he could, coating the back of his throat in a salty, yet mild, film that he adored.

His saliva was dripping down his chin when he pulled his fingers out, having licked all of the blood away until he only tasted himself. Boring and typical. A line of spit connected the tip of his nail and his lower lip, a pinkish color from the mix of the two liquids.

Glancing down his nose at his body, he saw his shirt was almost soaked through from the blood. The tint of his skin was revealed in certain spots, the fabric now see-through and clinging to his body. It was beyond arousing, the sight of his body plastered in blood, and Saihara couldn’t take it anymore.

He really felt like he was about to implode, unable to sit still. The taste of it was seeping into him, but he wanted more. He needed more. He needed something, he needed the blood. He needed all of it inside of him, on him, coating him until it poured down his throat and covered his insides.

Saihara’s hands were trembling as he attempted to undo the zipper of his pants. He was so excited he couldn’t move correctly, hands fumbling a few times before eventually managing to pull it down. Removing his dick from his pants, it twitched as the slick liquid covering it slid from the tip with each pulse. His whole erection was already coated by his own fluids, and when his discolored hand spread the mix of drool and blood over the tip, it throbbed with indescribable arousal.

Starting slow, he began touching himself to the repetitive flow of the blood moving around. It gushed between his fingers as he slid them over his dick and up his chest, taking one of his nipples between his fingers and playing with it.

It felt so good, it was so soft and smooth and it smelled so, so good. The taste was covering his mouth and seeping into him, rolling off his tongue each time he moaned and panted loudly. He couldn’t control himself, the drool was slipping out of his mouth as he let out a gurgled laugh full of ecstasy.

The faster he moved, the more he thrashed around and squirmed, his whole body burning with a deep need. A deep need to be drenched in blood, have it dripping off his tongue while he bit into something fleshy and warm. Squishy, oozing, flesh or organs in his mouth.

His hips began to rut upward to match the pace of his hand, frenzied and erratic. It was a full body experience, not just his lower-half melting but every single part of him. His body squeaking against the bathtub, his hand clawing at his drenched shirt, the blood caked into his hair and covering his face as he moaned loudly over and over.

There was no sound in the bathroom other than the noise of him jacking himself off in the pool of blood.

“A-Ah, ha, c-cummi-“ he babbled past his lips with no restraint. Craning his neck downward, he saw his whole body bathed in red, his dick in his hand, and he instantly came. He watched his body the entire time it happened, seeing his muscles twitch and his legs shake as he experienced the feeling he had been chasing for so long.

The explosion in his chest, the sight of blood, and quiet aside from the sounds of his own breathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wweeewoooooo hi!!
> 
> Skipped to day 5 as that was the next prompt that interested me!!! almost a week late but some stuff came up blah blah yknow....
> 
> Next is day 6, and I'm excited for that one too!!! Kaede incoming
> 
> Also I am like.... really nervous about this chapter because it's a lot different but aaaaaaaaa..... Special thanks to the person that helped me write it...! （´ω｀♡%）
> 
> If you enjoyed please leave some kudos and a comment, I respond to them all! Have a nice night


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